


Extraction

by Tiriel



Category: RED (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiriel/pseuds/Tiriel
Summary: Victoria is sent to bring someone in alive, for a change.
Relationships: Ivan Simanov/Victoria Winslow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Extraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My_Young_Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/gifts).



_February 1986, New York City_

“You want the asset alive? Are you sure this assignment isn’t meant for someone else?”

She heard the faint sound of her superior stifling a chuckle through the phone line. “I realize it’s not your usual sort of thing, Agent Winslow, but you’ve finished your assignment in New York, and I think the reason you were chosen for this particular extraction will be clear once you arrive. He’ll meet you under the arches of the Pacific Science Center in Seattle, Washington, at twelve noon tomorrow, local time. Travel documents for both of you and his full dossier can be obtained through the usual channels once you arrive.”

“Understood.” She hung up the phone, then dialed again. 

“I need to leave a message for a guest,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have the room number, but it’s Mr. Krolik. K-R-O-L-I-K. Yes, thank you. The message is, ‘Travel plans have changed, I’ll let you know when I’m free again.’ Excellent, thank you.” 

_Seattle, Washington, the next day_

She took the usual precautions, and her travel to Seattle proved to be uneventful. The view from the airport windows revealed the expected grey skies and a fortunate lack of rain, for the moment, at least. She went to the luggage carousel, where she retrieved her own bag (expendable but filled with a plausible amount of clothing and toiletries) and then waited for a second to appear. A small black violin case with a red and blue ribbon around to the handle proved to have her name attached to it, and when she opened it in the ladies’ room she found car keys and a map. 

The map led her to a nondescript blue sedan in long-term parking, which opened with the keys. The trunk contained a fashionable, if a trifle large, shoulder bag that held a pleasing selection of small arms and other equipment. The glove box contained another set of keys and a map that took her to a parking garage in downtown Seattle, where she traded the car for another, this one a light brown. Then she drove to Pike Place Market and parked nearby. On foot, she ducked into a small newsstand. 

“Pardon me,” she asked at the desk, “do you carry any newspapers in Flemish?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the proprietor, “but this may help.” He handed her a folded copy of the Financial Times. She could feel the thick manila envelope inside it. 

“Thank you,” she said, handing over a few folded American bills, and went back to her car.

She parked as close as she could to the meeting point and opened the envelope. She was just about to pull out the dossier and travel documents when she saw a man whose face she recognized despite a fairly absurd fake mustache cross the street at the intersection ahead. 

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, and stuffed the envelope into her bag. She exited the car and walked briskly in the opposite direction, only to turn a corner and see a different familiar face. “Francis,” she said coolly, “I haven’t seen you since Majorca. Whatever are you doing here? You know, I could have sworn I just saw Marvin a block over that way. Perhaps the two of you should go get some lunch? I hear the clam chowder is lovely here.”

“Relax,” he said, “we’re on the same side today. Even though we weren't in Spain. Sometime you'll have to tell me how you made that shot under those wind conditions.” He grinned in a boyish-yet-roguish way that a less experienced woman might find disarming. “The Soviets are after your guy, and we’re here to run some interference for you.”

“And why should I believe that?” 

“Because we haven’t tried to knock you out and stuff you in the trunk of the car…”

At that she gave a small chuckle and a shake of her head.

“And because the code phrase of the day is ‘Thatcher's pants.’ I don't think I've ever seen her wear pants.” This time the grin was just roguish.

“‘Trousers,’ actually, but that’ll do. Very well, then. I’ll proceed to the meet, and you and Marvin can observe at a distance.”

She walked towards the arches at exactly twelve o’clock. Among the tourists, she saw a tweed-clad man under the nearest arch with his arm bent as if to check his watch. She adjusted her path so she could pass closely enough for him to notice her, hoping he was her contact but all-too-aware that she’d been too distracted by Marvin’s appearance and then Francis’ to actually open the envelope with his details. When he turned, she realized that that didn’t actually matter. She knew his face almost as well as she knew her own. She saw his wavy hair, mostly concealed under a hat, the prominent nose she’d always made fun of when they were children, and his expressive eyebrows, which rose in shock at her approach. Without breaking stride, she slipped her hand over his arm with a brilliant smile as he stammered in surprise. “Hello, nice to see you, we really must be going or we’ll be late.”

“Vic? What on earth—?”

“Well, William, I assume you’ve gotten yourself in trouble, and I’m here to rescue you. The car’s this way.” She heard the crack of small arms fire echoing off the nearby buildings. Three shots, then silence.

“Was that… gunfire?”

“Only a little, and not close enough to worry about. Clearly they didn't get a sniper placed. It does sound like my associates have it handled for the moment, but please do hurry, dear.”

“Vic, are you… are you a _spy_?”

She sighed, opening the passenger door and nudging him inside. “Buckle your safety belt, William,” she said, “we may need to break the speed limit.”

As she pulled away from the curb, he turned and looked at her. “Did Mum know?”

“Of course she did, you idiot. Don’t you remember all those stories she used to tell about being in France during the war?”

“Yes. You mean…" William shook his head. "It can’t be. I remember the stories, but she didn’t say anything about spying.“

“Of course not, you didn’t have the security clearance. She didn’t actually tell me either, but I did eventually get my hands on her file, which made for some rather inspiring reading.” She saw a small explosion from an upcoming side street. When they passed, it, she caught a glimpse of Francis fighting a burly man in front of a burning car. “The airport is certainly being watched by now, but I prepared for that.” She passed by the southbound onramp, taking the northbound one instead, and sailed onto the interstate at a reasonable speed, scanning the road and keeping a close watch on the rearview mirror. “Now tell me what sort of trouble you’re in, brother dear.”

He ran his hand over his face and slumped back in his seat. “The long or short version?”

“Long is fine, we have a couple of hours until we get to Canada. I didn’t even know you were in Washington State. Doing accounting for Boeing? Or perhaps some kind of lumber company?”

“A software firm, actually. It’s going public soon, and I think they’ll be going places. But the Soviets…”

_Interstate 5, approaching the Canadian border, approximately 90 minutes later_

The whine of the motorcycle coming up behind them was the first sign that they were in trouble. “Hold the wheel steady for me, and let me know if we’re going to hit anything,” she said, rolling down the window with one hand as she reached into her bag and pulled out a gun with the other. 

His eyes widened, but he complied as she rotated in her seat to better observe their pursuer. 

“Steadier than that, please. Don’t want to hit any civilians.” She fired one careful shot out the window, and the motorcyclist slumped over the handlebars. “Don’t worry,” she said, “since we didn't make it to the airport they'll assume we encountered complications. We’ll have reinforcements waiting for us on the other side of the border.”

“Oh, of course, I’m not worried, Vic, why would I be? I’m merely running for my life from some Soviet spies with my sister, who has been leading a double life for years as some kind of Jane Bond. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

She followed the signs for Peace Arch Park. Stopping the car in a vacant corner of the lot, she grabbed her bag, pushed a button on the bottom of the steering column, and sprinted away, dragging him behind her. “Distraction,” she explained as the car exploded behind them. They dashed towards the park, heading for the Canadian side. Most of the tourists had stopped to stare at the explosion in the parking lot. “We can cross on foot. My people will be waiting for us, but if they aren't, I have passports for both of us.” She heard a helicopter in the distance, but didn’t think it would get there before they reached the rendezvous. 

Then a man in a dark wool coat stepped out from behind a tree, a pistol held almost casually in his hand. “You’ll be coming with me,” he said in a thick Russian accent.

“No,” she said, producing her own pistol from her bag with practiced speed, “he won’t.”

The Russian shook his head. “I’d rather not shoot you. Women of your kind are too rare.”

“And what kind is that?” she said, slowly approaching, gun steady.

“Beautiful, elegant, skilled with heavy artillery. You know, perfect. Him, on the other hand, I can shoot. I assume he’s why you canceled our plans.” He raised the gun.

She stepped in front of William, raising a hand. “Ivan, please don’t. He’s my brother, and I don’t want to shoot you, either.”

Ivan sighed and lowered his pistol. “Very well. Anything for you, Bunny.” He paused, and inclined his head as he stepped back into the trees. “Well, almost anything.” 

William stared after Ivan, then looked back at her. “Bunny? What was that— Are you some kind of double agent?“

She cut him off with an impatient gesture. “Good God, of course not. I'll explain later. Quickly, William, there may be more of them.” They hurried to the far side of the park, where a small cluster of men in dark suits waited in plain sight.

One of the men, she realized to her horror, had a pair of binoculars in his hands. He looked at her quizzically. “Trouble with the Soviets?”

“A bit,” she said, “but I handled it.” Years of practice kept the concern from showing on her face. If he’d seen her talking with Ivan, there could be trouble ahead.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, as always. To find out whether or not there was indeed trouble ahead, see the movie.


End file.
